No Easy Way Out
by BeautifulEscapism
Summary: Set just after 5X03. Sam and Dean have separated and the younger Winchester thinks he has found a way around Lucifer's plans to wear him to prom. The devil can't get his permission to possess him if he's too dead to give his consent he reasons. Despite Lucifer's promise to bring him back if he kills himself, Sam decides to call his bluff.
1. Chapter 1

No Easy Way Out

Chapter 1

 **Summary:** Set just after 5X03. Sam and Dean have separated and the younger Winchester thinks he has found a way around Lucifer's plans. The devil can't get his permission to possess him if he's too dead to say "Yes", right? Though Lucifer has promised to bring him back if he tries to kill himself, Sam decides to call his bluff.

 **A/N:** So this is my first supernatural fic. I think there'll be 3 chapters but we'll just see how it goes. Rated for suicide, blood and typical Dean swearing.

 **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**

Lucifer had risen, the world was ending and Sam had just one goal. Self-destruction.

It was perfectly logical he told himself. He had already screwed up enough for a lifetime – enough for a thousand lifetimes – when he started the apocalypse. And now, Lucifer was topside and could destroy the whole damn world if he fancied it. He was all-powerful. Almost. He still needed Sam's permission to possess him and as long as he kept saying "no" the world would remain relatively safe. Of course, there was still plenty of damage the devil could do but his power was limited since he didn't have his true vessel but, the moment Sam let him in he would wear him to prom. Carrie-style.

So as long as Sam stayed strong, things would be fine but this was _Satan_ they were talking about – the devil himself. Though he had promised not to lie or trick him into saying yes when he gate-crashed his dreams, Sam was certain that the strangely non-threatening Lucifer could still be very _persuasive_ if he chose to. And it was only a matter of time before he somehow made him give in. Even if he could somehow stay strong Sam didn't trust himself enough to take that risk – not after the ordeal with the demon blood the other night at the bar. He considered himself a liability. Even Dean, his own brother, couldn't trust him!

And that's what had led him here, to do something he never thought he could. When the fallen angel had revealed that the younger Winchester was his 'one true vessel', he had also assured Sam that if he killed himself he could just bring him back but the hunter suspected he might have been bluffing. And now Sammy was going to call his bluff. There had to be some way to get around this latest horrible twist of fate and this was the only way he could see. The only way Sam could save the world was to simply not be in it any more.

It made a sick kind of sense really, he thought. He'd always been a screw-up – never as brave as his father, never as strong as Dean. He'd never been good enough. At least this way he would do a little good. Dying to save the word from the wrath of the devil himself sounded as good a way to go as any.

Unfortunately, all his reasoned arguments and logic didn't seem to help Sam's hands stop shaking as he'd hoped they would. He took a deep breath and looked down at the objects he had carefully laid out on the garish motel bed. He couldn't help thinking for a moment that he would have liked to finally die somewhere a little nicer than this place, which he had picked purely because it was cheap and close by. If Sam was honest, he really couldn't care less where he was. What he really wanted was Dean. They'd always said they would never live long enough to be old but there had always been an unspoken assumption between them that if they went out they would do it fighting. Together.

Well, he thought ruefully, that had gone just about as well as most Winchester plans did.

Directing his attention back to the bed, he picked up his cell phone with a slightly trembling hand. He really didn't want to do this. Brushing his bangs out of his eyes with an irritated flick of his head, he pressed speed dial and prepared to speak to Dean for the last time. After the way things had gone last time they'd spoken he was dreading this moment. He remembered Dean's voice telling him they were weaker when they were together, that they should just go their separate ways and tried to convince himself that that meant his older brother would be okay with what he was going to do. But he knew Dean and he knew there was no chance of that happening. Since he was six months old, Dean had raised him, had been his protector and had been his best friend. There was no way he would let something as insignificant as Satan or the apocalypse get in the way of that. But unfortunately, he didn't have a say in this matter.

After ringing for ages, Dean's phone just went to voicemail. Sighing, the younger brother hung up quickly. Not that he had much experience in this sort of situation, but he sort of thought it seemed a bit rude to just leave a voicemail. What would he even say? _"Hey there, it's Sam here and I know you said we should go our own ways and never see each other again but I thought I'd just let you know I'm gonna kill myself over here. Kay, bye see you never!"_? After trying Dean's other cell, his _other,_ other cell and his **_other,_** _other,_ other cell he finally admitted defeat and decided to leave a message.

If he waited until his older brother actually picked up the phone he had a suspicion that his resolve would have weakened and he would be unable to go through with it. He left a message on his phone, trying to hold it together and sound calm and sane and reasonable but he had a feeling that Dean would be able to hear the suppressed sobs he tried to cover up as he said his farewells. He had probably also heard the way he couldn't help stuttering over the word "suicide" – it seemded to make it all real. But it was over with now. There was nothing holding him back. He could do this, he told himself.

He grabbed the innocuous-looking little bottle of pills from the hideous bedspread and took his hunting knife from under his pillow to be extra sure. The sasquatch of a man made his way to the cramped motel bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub holding the bottle with white knuckles. As he shook a handful of pills into his palm, Sam couldn't help feeling a flash of pride with himself at his steady hands. He had made peace with his decision since he really didn't have many other options. At least he would go out on his own terms and ruin Lucifer's plans in the process.

He brushed his long bangs out of his eyes one last time before tossing his hand back and dry-swallowing as many of the little white pills as he could. Quickly, he took out his hunting knife and tried to remain conscious for long enough to make sure he finished the job properly. He dragged the sharp knife vertically down his left arm, all the way from his wrist to the crook of his elbow, leaving a trail of bright crimson blood welling up in its wake. He repeated this action with his other arm before the last of his strength was spent. He could tell the pills were working – he couldn't even feel the pain he knew he ought to from his mutilated arms. Just before he was pulled under into the darkness he thought in surprise for just a split second that even he, who must have seen a hundred deaths in his time as a hunter, was a little shocked by the sheer quantity of blood blossoming from his veins and spreading out across the room.

That's all he had time to think before the darkness of oblivion enveloped him. Giving the youngest Winchester peace at last. It was an unlikely peace: bleeding out and dragged under on the dirty floor of a motel bathroom, but Sam didn't care. He was out. He didn't have to carry on his family's endless, probably pointless crusade against all the evil bastards they fought any longer. Heaven, hell, oblivion? He really didn't care what came next so long as he was free from the Devil's threats, the temptation of demons' blood and his brother's terrible disappointment.

It wasn't that he wanted to die, no every instinct he had was screaming against what he was doing, but he _had_ to for the greater good. A big part of him wished in that second as he lay bleeding out and falling under the waves of nothingness from the drugs that he could just turn his back on this life, become normal, do the whole 'white picket fence' thing but he knew now that wasn't an option. He'd tried to be normal once – and look how that turned out. Now he understood. He could never live a normal life because _he_ wasn't _normal_ and he never would be. Maybe Sam just wasn't meant to be happy.

He welcomed the endless darkness enveloping him.

Unfortunately, the 'endless' darkness seemed to last about two minutes before he regained consciousness.

To his dismay he sat up – in the same grotty bathroom he'd just ended things in. Clearly, Lucifer really hadn't been kidding when he'd said he would bring him back. He looked down to see his horribly marred arms. Except they weren't. They were covered in gross, drying blood but beneath that, his skin was perfect and unbroken. There was no sign there'd been jagged, gaping wounds there just moments ago. Somehow he had been brought back to life all shiny and new. Of course, Sam thought, Lucifer wouldn't want his pretty packaging getting damaged before he 'tried him on'.

Flexing his arms experimentally, the hunter couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped him. Apparently, the devil's own special brand of kindness got rid of the scars, but not the pain. "Well isn't that just perfect!" Sam said to himself with dangerous levels of sarcasm. He felt like he'd gone five rounds with a monster truck.

He stumbled to his feet and surveyed the wreckage of the bathroom from his impressive height. Oh, there was no way he was getting his security deposit back. The small room looked as if someone had died there. Well they had, just not for long. The off-white tiles were awash in his own bright scarlet blood, as was the side of the bath. In fact, pretty much everything was. Though in his line of work he couldn't afford to get queasy; the sight of his own blood staining the room turned his stomach. He hated it as the sight of it meant he couldn't forget what his blood meant, who he was – Sam Winchester: the boy with demon blood, the blood junkie, the boy who'd caused the damn apocalypse.

What was he meant to do now? Just go on as if things were normal, as if the devil wasn't popping up all over the place in his dreams, as if he wouldn't inevitably say 'yes'? It might take months, years, even decades but at some point he would crumble and the whole world would have to pay the price. No, he told himself. He couldn't give up now, he'd already called Dean, said his goodbyes, there had to be a way he could die. Strangely, the fact he hadn't succeeded had made him far more determined to actually go through with this. He forced himself to think about the situation logically.

Lucifer needed him alive so he could be used as a vessel – he needed his body. So, Sam thought, what if his body was so badly damaged he couldn't fix it. Would that be enough to stop the devil's plans for world domination? Maybe not but he considered it worth a try.

There had to be a way to die that there was no coming back from. Looking around critically Sam realised he was going to have to be very creative for this to work. He was in for a long night. Hopefully, one long _last_ night.

 **TBC**

 **A/N** : Wow sorry, that turned out much darker than I was expecting. Honestly I love Sammy, he is my smol child so I'm not quite sure where this came from! Anyway, thoughts? Should I bother continuing (next chapter would be with Dean) or should I ditch it? Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 **A/N:** So this is Dean's point of view in this chapter. Sorry if it all seems a bit cheesy or contrived but I really had no idea what to write for Sam's message but I hope this seems okay. There is one line slightly inspired by Sherlock since I was watching Reichenbach Fall this morning and it just sort of seemed to fit. Anyway, enjoy! :D

 **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**

"I really hate you ugly sons of bitches, you know?" Dean informed the corpse – which was still smoking slightly after being hit with an emergency flare. He'd taken on an apparently easy wendigo hunt as a break from the whole 'apocalypse' thing. God, he thought after a moment; when hunting a wendigo becomes a recreational activity just to blow off some steam you know it's bad.

He sighed, packed his weapons back into his duffel bag and set about trying to find his way out of the (now dead) monster's lair. Trying not to inhale too deeply since the air was still heavy with the scent of crispy-fried wendigo and whatever, or whoever, its last meal had been, Dean headed towards the mouth of the cave.

In a way it had been nice to take a nice simple case like this, one where he could just torch the bastard and be done with it. To get back to how things used to be when they were just ordinary hunters – _Saving people, hunting things, the family business._ Except, Dean mentally corrected himself, it wasn't so much of a 'family business' with just him here on his lonesome. Remembering the things he'd said to Sam last time they'd talked he couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt. Logically, he knew he'd been right – it was safer, smarter for the brothers to stay the hell away from each other. But that didn't mean it was easy. He kept waiting for Sammy to whine at him to turn his music down or to pop up and say, "So get this…" but he didn't. And he wouldn't. Dean had been pretty damn clear about the whole 'stronger apart' thing. Not that he regretted what he said. Not much at least.

Making his way out of the miserably gloomy woods, the hunter couldn't help grinning at the sight of his car. His baby was by far the most reliable thing in his life so he felt entitled to spending perhaps-unreasonable amounts of time admiring her. And why not? She was a thing of beauty.

He climbed into the driver seat before realising he covered in mud and god-knows-what from the hunt. He sighed. That was just fantastic – now he would have to check into a motel looking like a dirty tramp. Turning the key, he let the low rumble of the engine and the comforting familiarity of led zeppelin wash away his irritation.

Just before he drove off into the night he noticed his phone had lit up. Normally he would ignore it but on impulse he turned the car off and leaned across to check his cell. "2 Missed Calls" it read. Checking, he found that both were from his little brother. What trouble had Sam got himself into this time? He pressed play on the voicemail he had left and Sam's voice filled the car and it was only then that it occurred to Dean how much he had hated the silence of hunting without him.

" _Um, so hey Dean you're not picking up your phone right now but I really need to talk to you and it can't wait so I guess I'll just explain things like this. It's probably better, since this way you can't interrupt me or argue or anything. So basically: I've fucked everything up._

 _I killed Lilith, broke the final seal and released Lucifer. I caused the frickin' apocalypse, dude, not to mention all the demon blood and Ruby and all that shit. Man, I've really done a thorough job of ruining things, haven't I?"_

Oh god, Dean thought, it was just like Sammy to do this – obsess over every little (and not so little) mistake he'd ever made. Didn't the kid understand that there was nothing he could do to change what he had done? Of course not, and that's why he was now bothering Dean about it! Honestly, he had given him some pretty damn clear advice on contacting him again, don't. And yet, here he was, bitching and moaning to his big brother about it all.

As he continued listening to Sam's words his anger soon changed to worry before shifting into full on panic. What the hell was his little brother thinking?

 _"I'm so sorry about all that. I wish I could just go back and change things. But I can't. And now things are worse than ever. The apocalypse is about to start going to full swing and I'm meant to be Satan's 'one true vessel' or something and it's just too much. It's all too much. If Lucifer gets my permission he'll become pretty close to invincible and Dean, I just can't let it come to that. After all the stuff I've done, I just don't trust myself not to give in. I can't let the whole world go to hell just because I'm too weak to do anything about it. This time I won't be weak. I've found a way out and…it's not ideal but, well, anything beats the apocalypse, right?"_

Dean paused the recording for a moment. He was now in full-on 'big brother mode'. Something was seriously wrong. Despite how hard he was obviously trying to hide it, he could hear the sobs threatening to break through Sam's calm façade.

The elder Winchester stared accusingly at his phone. He was fighting the urge to smash it because he just couldn't bear to listen as his brother tore himself apart. He knew Sammy wasn't weak, hell, he was one of the strongest people he knew! Why couldn't he see that for himself? He felt torn, since a part of him just wanted to toss away the phone – and maybe drive over it a couple of times for good measure – so he could stop listening to the hateful words Sam was saying about himself but in the end reason won out.

He had to listen to the end, find out what the hell he was thinking before he could go find his little brother. He had to know what his idiot of a sibling was planning. With great trepidation, Dean pressed play.

He could hear Sam take a deep, shuddering breath in the message, like he was trying to prepare himself to do something impossibly difficult. If it was possible, Dean felt even more anxious than before. _"I've been thinking,"_ Sam began, _"Lucifer wants to possess me and apparently I'm the only one who can be his vessel so, if he can't have me he can't do anything much, right? So as long as I'm gone, so is he."_ It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

 _"I know this seems a bit dramatic but this is the only way I can see out._

 _This message, it's like my note, Dean. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?_

 _Although, god, I never expected it to come to this: suicide in a grubby motel bathroom."_

Dean choked for a second as the air inside the impala suddenly seemed to be made of treacle. He couldn't breathe. Had Sammy just said…? He tried to convince himself that he'd misheard but he knew in his heart that wasn't true. Sam had stuttered over the words a little and he sounded like he was barely holding it together but he had been clear. His little brother, the boy he'd sworn to protect, was really thinking about suicide. How was it that his nerdy Sasquatch of a brother had come to this?

He knew exactly how actually, he had abandoned the kid, made him feel like shit and then made him deal with all this apocalypse crap alone. Dean swore under his breath. He should have stayed with Sammy, then none of this would be happening. It was all his fault.

 _"I wanted to say sorry, for everything, all the stuff I've done. But more than that, what I really wanted to say was thank you. You've taken care of me for as long as I can remember and I couldn't've wished for a better brother. When I'm gone you've gotta keep going, Dean; no giving up. None of this was ever your fault, okay? No beating yourself up over this. Just keep fighting, keep living and know that I love you. I'm sorry."_

Dean could feel the backs of his eyes prickling with unshed tears. It astonished him that, even now, his brother could always predict exactly what he was thinking and before he himself had even thought of it. How had it come to this?

 _"Goodbye, jerk."_

And with that the recording ended and he was left alone in the oppressive silence with nothing but an electronic message asking if he wanted to play the message again. Numbly, he flipped the phone shut and let his head fall into his hands.

It was that last word, Sam's last goodbye that really broke Dean. The strong, unconquerable hunter sat hunched over and allowed the tears he would always restrain to fall. What was the point in pretending anymore? His little brother, his priority number 1, his reason to be had gone and killed himself someplace; thinking he was unwanted, unloved and alone and there was nothing he could do about it. This thought did nothing to stop the flow of his tears falling steadily from his desperate green eyes.

He had been too late. Too late to save Sammy.

He allowed himself a few minutes to wallow in utter despair before he suddenly had a thought and futile hope flared through him. He hurriedly checked the time the call had been made. 2 hours ago. Dean knew that the chances of Sam still being alive were slim to none but, hell, that was pretty much the same odds they usually worked with.

If there was any chance at all he could stop this, he would take it. Carelessly brushing the tears from his eyes, he found the GPS tracker on his phone. Sam – or his phone at least – was in Illinois, a seven hour drive away at least. Tossing the phone onto the seat beside him and taking a great, shaky gulp of air the hunter put is car in drive and prepared to speed all the way to his brother, hoping against hope that he wasn't going to be led straight to the county morgue.

 **SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN**

It was, without a doubt, the worst drive of his life. He couldn't bear to have music on – it seemed altogether too cheerful when he knew he was most likely driving to his brother's funeral. That left him to drive in complete silence, with only his dark thoughts and horrible possibilities to keep him company.

After nearly six hours of panic and despair he was almost surprised to reach his destination. He pulled up in the parking lot of the grubby motel where his brother apparently was, with immense trepidation. It was in the early hours of the morning, around four or five and the place was utterly still. The sun was just on the cusp of rising, and his bleak surroundings were illuminated by wan yellow light.

Dean climbed out of the impala with legs stiff from the long drive headed immediately for the motel reception. The boy behind the desk gave a double take when he saw the hunter approach him. Frankly, he couldn't blame him. Dean was still liberally covered with god-knows-what from the hunt and with his haggard expression and desperate eyes he must have cut a strange figure in the sleepy little town. After trying a variety of surnames – and receiving some odd looks for his effort – he finally found out there was a 'Sam Wesson' booked in room 106. The moment he found out what he wanted, he ran from the office, completely ignoring the tired and perplexed teenager manning the desk.

Once he found the correct door he wasted no time. Dean doubted Sam would be in any state to answer the door – if he was still alive that is, so he didn't bother knocking. Instead, one heavy-booted foot and kicked the door down. The rickety old wood gave immediately, splintering beneath his touch. This final barrier from his brother removed, Dean dashed into the room.

It was a mess. The lights were out, but in the dim light that streamed through the cobwebbed curtains the assortment of weapons stained rust red with blood laid out on the bed could still be seen, along with the unspeakably awful watercolour which the manager had painted himself. The fact it was now splattered with blood did nothing to improve its appeal. Behind the bed there was a large, dark red stain oozily spreading out across the hideous carpet.

But Dean did not notice any of this. No, his attention was singularly focused on the obscenely tall, shaggy haired man standing in the centre of the room. He could barely breathe for relief. He was alright. Sammy was alive. He wasn't too late.

In a single stride he crossed the distance between them and enveloped the younger man in a bone-crushing embrace. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, Sammy," he managed to say. His little brother stayed rigid in his arms, apparently shocked by his appearance.

"Dean?" Same finally asked in a tone of complete surprise and disbelief. "You came."

The wonder in Sam's exhausted face made Dean feel guilty beyond belief. How could he seriously doubt that he would show up after hearing that message? He must be the world's worst big brother. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm so sorry." He hugged the younger man tighter and continued to whisper a host of meaningless reassurances, the same way he always used to after Sam had a nightmare. He held him like this for a while, before Sam appeared to come to his senses and suddenly pulled away from Dean.

Dean took this opportunity to get a good look at his brother. He wasn't pleased by what he saw. His eyes were full of pain and, below the sleeves of his flannel shirt, he could see faint streak of blood on his wrist. Also, for some reason, he was soaking wet. Dean was about to start interrogating him about whatever the hell was going on but before he got the chance, Sam announced, "You need to leave, Dean. Now."

His eyes were full of panic and the older hunter knew there was no way in hell he was leaving any time soon. He was about to start asking Sam what happened, when he finally got a good look at the room. In truth, what with all the bloodstains, the place looked like an abattoir. So this was what Sam hadn't wanted him to see. Too late.

"What the _hell_ happened, Sammy?"

Dean was shocked beyond belief at the scene of devastation before him.

But in a way, it didn't matter.

Because Sam was safe. He was alive. Dean figured he could cope with pretty much anything else, just so long as he had his little brother. Clearly, he wasn't alright but, for now, he would settle for alive.

Between them, he reckoned they would be able to fix whatever the hell it was that was going on.

Because they were the Winchesters. And that's what they did.

 **tbc**

 **A/N** : I apologise for the hideously cheesy ending to this chapter but I couldn't think of how else to stop.

Any reviews – seriously, I don't mind if they're only a word long or if you just tell me you hate it – would be awesome!

Until the next time… -Rona


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